


Echo

by DepravedDoll



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Angst, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Psychological Drama, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepravedDoll/pseuds/DepravedDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout their lives together it had always felt as though the closer they became the more challenges they faced. Bucky returns to Steve a ghost of his past self, the voice and the appearance but the way he is, his personality is fractured and different, Steve still loves him, as he always has and he is determined to save his friend. As the dust begins to settle and memories resurface, the threat of Hydra grows and Bucky is unsure if he is enough to protect Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story took on a life of it's own, what was originally going to be a one shot now it going to be multi chapters, what can I say, these guys inspire me. Hope you enjoy,

He had loved Brooklyn, despite everything, it was still his home, but it ached of ghosts and a time long since passed. He had moved apartments since the events with Fury and the crumble of SHEILD, a small two bedroom in Manhattan, it almost echoed of home but not enough to stop him from wanting to go back. Tonight he had wanted to go back, he ached in body and soul, a battle he would rather forget, but the wounds should fade soon enough. Bruce had gone missing and they were still no closer to locating Bucky. Peggy’s health was failing and he knew her life would soon flicker out of existence and he almost couldn’t take anymore, his heart felt like lead.

It had rained all day, heavy and persistent, he was drenched before he reached the building. Sharon had moved to the same building not long after him, it was obvious it wasn’t a coincidence but SHIELD had dispersed and he wasn’t sure who was holding the strings any longer. The moment he reached his door he knew something wasn’t right, his hand poised over the door handle, key hovering before the lock. He moved carefully and quietly, the key turning as slowly as possible, he slipped inside the darkened apartment, surveyed his surroundings before moving forward. He allowed his hand to reach beneath the table as he placed the keys upon the top, slowly unclipping the gun hidden there.

His footfalls silent as he moved, gun extended before him, safety off, his heart steady, slow, beat by beat, step by step. The kitchen was clear and he enters the living room, sweeping across with the gun, there in the corner of the room by the large glass doors that led onto the balcony, sits Bucky. Steve’s heart pounds heavily, he swallows the beats that reach his throat, the gun slowly lowering, eyes glistening, words caught. The light from the city casts a strange glow across the other’s form, he is hunched slightly and staring into the darkness like he is part of it, his hair glistens, damp from the rain. He is wearing gloves and a jacket, concealing the metal limb from view, he looks slightly dishevelled, but not the worse Steve has ever seen him.

“Bucky?” he’s slowly moving closer, puts the gun down on a table as he passes, hands extended before him. The dark haired male lifts his gaze, bright blue eyes staring straight at him and he aches to reach out to his friend, to envelope him in his arms and hold him tight. He restrains the urge, “Bucky?” he tries again, “it’s me, Steve,” he thinks that’s foolish, after all, he must have known that to have tracked him here.

“I know, I remember some things, not a lot, some I wish had stayed forgotten,” he eyes don’t stray from Steve’s own and the pain within them is clear. He’s seen that look before, on the bridge and a version of it back during the war, when Bucky wouldn’t speak of what had happened to him during his capture with HYDRA. Steve takes a seat at the table opposite his friend, he clenches his hands to keep them from reaching out to the other, for confirmation he is really there. “I’ve done some terrible things,” there are tears there, a glistening shimmering gleam across the blue.

“Not by choice,” he knows it won’t ease the guilt, but he needs Bucky to understand he doesn’t blame him, or hold him accountable for any of it.

“I went to the museum, stared at my face on those screens for hours, listened to the stories, read the words over and over again, thinking it would unlock everything. I remember pieces,” he takes in a deep breath, chest rising and falling with the motion, “not enough to be a full month of what should have been my life. I feel hollow to it,” the words cut at Steve, because he wants and selfishly needs this man to be Bucky, his Bucky, the one that would laugh and light up the room, throw his arm around his shoulders and call him a punk. He thinks the other notices the expression, “I remember you were smaller,” it’s an offer and Steve allows a strangled pained laugh to slip through his lips and the other tries a smile. “I want to remember, I’d like to choose just the good but if I have to have it all, it’s a price I’ll pay.”

“You think I can help?” Steve asks, he’s not sure himself but he’ll try, do everything he can and more.

“Yes, everything seems to centre around you.” There’s a knock at the door, he watches as Bucky tenses, every muscle ready for a fight. It’s not his Bucky before him in that moment, it’s the Winter Soldier, his eyes are cold, deadly. Despite his own best thinking Steve places a hand atop the other’s own, the table ends up at the other end of the room and he’s in a choke hold, the metal arm crushing his windpipe.

“Bucky…” He hisses out, grasping the arm and prising it from his neck, he’s released from the grip quickly and there are apologies whispered as the other moves away from him. The knocking continues, becomes more persistent, his name is called through the door, he insists he is coming and turns his attention to Bucky. “It’s ok, stay here, please,” he’s begging and the other nods in agreement as Steve walks to the door. Sharon is stood there when he opens it, he smiles despite himself.

“Is everything ok?” She asks, trying to look past him into the apartment,

“Yeah, I just fell,” he doesn’t think she believes him,

“Right, well I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink? I know you’ve just come back from a tough mission, thought you might want to unwind and have some company,” she smiles in invitation and he feels terrible as he asks for a rain check, the last one he had requested had lasted seventy years. He hoped she didn’t know that, she looked disappointed but covered it well and excused herself. When he walks back into the living room Bucky is gone and his heart freezes. There is a breeze from the balcony doors and he steps outside to find the other leaning against the railing.

“Were you going to run?” Steve asks as he leans on the railings next to the other.

“Part of me wanted to,” he admits, “my head isn’t right,” he forces out and there are tears running down his cheeks, almost concealed by the rain. “I’m terrified I’m going to lose control, that I might hurt someone.” He crumples to the floor and Steve follows, crouching in front of the other.

“You might not remember this, but you were the strongest person I have ever known, I always looked up to you, you amazed me, protected me. Hydra can’t change who you are, they may have tried to strip it away but you are still James Buchanan Barnes you don’t need your memories for that, you can have mine.” He’s a ghost of Bucky, the voice and the appearance but the way he is, his personality is fractured and different, Steve still loves him, as he always has.

“I’m scared, sometimes, I remember things and I feel things that I used to but it’s an echo and I’m not sure this version of me can feel in the same capacity I used to. I don’t know what they took from me, I don’t know if I can get it back, maybe they should lock me up, put me down.” Steve hits him, he’s not sure it’s the smartest move he has ever made, Bucky looks at him with mild confusion, touching his lips where they had split with the force.

“Don’t you dare,” he stands, extends his hand, “You said you were with me until the end of the line and this isn’t it.” Blue eyes regard the hand extended towards him and moments later he takes it and rises to his full height, slightly shorter than that of the blonde before him. “I think we should go in, out of the rain, I used to be quite sickly,” When Bucky looks at Steve then, glistening with the raindrops and the glow from the city, he feels something he hasn’t felt for a long time, his heart swells with it, greedily holding to it and relishing in the feel of something that isn’t darkness. He smiles, a ghost of a gesture on his lips and to Steve it’s an echo of what used to be but it’s more than he’s seen and he feels for a moment that he might be home.

Steve gets them towels to dry off, he locks the door and turns up the heating. Puts on the lights to bring some life to the apartment, he offers to cook, its Bucky’s favourite but the mention doesn’t reflect recognition and it almost doesn’t hurt.

“You can have a shower if you want, I’ve got clothes you can borrow whilst yours dry.” Bucky accepts the offer and Steve grabs some sweatpants and a hoodie on the way to the bathroom, he turns on the shower and lets the water heat up. Places a towel and the clothes on the side, “you can leave your clothes in here, I’ll put them in the wash when you’re finished,” Bucky’s gaze doesn’t leave him even as he slips out of his coat, removes the gloves, “I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need anything just shout.” Bucky stops him before he leaves, metal arm outstretched across the door.

“I used to look after you…” Steve nods and smiles,

“All the time, now it’s my turn to look after you,” Bucky lets him leave then and as the door closes, Steve leans against it. He tries to keep his memories at bay, as comforting as they can be, he aches with the past enough as it is.

Bucky relishes in the feel of the warm water against his skin, washing away the dirt and grime, he listens to Steve’s footsteps as they walk away from the door. When he closes his eyes he sees a different time, the smaller Steve sat opposite him at the table as they eat dinner, laugh and joke, it’s so carefree and easy and Bucky feel’s those emotions but not fully, a shadow of them. Even then he’s not entirely sure what those feelings are, there’s something there, as his past self observes his friend, something he can’t place, something he is afraid he doesn’t understand. Memories of Hydra tear him back to reality and he freezes against the sensations, the pain. He comes back to himself at the sound of Steve’s voice telling him that dinner is ready, the relief that washes over him is immense, he can get lost in his mind for hours.

He dries off, runs the towel over his hair and ensures the metal of his prosthetic arm is thoroughly dry, he picks up the clothes Steve had left for him. Finds himself breathing in the scent like a tether to the present, he’s concerned because he needs Steve more than either of them has admitted and he barely knows him. He dresses quickly, slipping into the hoodie and zipping it up, tying the sweatpants, he feels different, normal, he wipes the mist from the mirror with his right hand, stares at himself for a heartbeat before he turns and leaves the bathroom.

Dinner is waiting when he enters the kitchen, there is an island in the centre and that’s where he finds Steve, he takes a seat opposite and notices how the other’s gaze lingers on him. Steve is surprised at how domestic this feels and looks, how similar to past moments Bucky probably has no recollection of, he can almost let himself believe fate had been kinder to them. He may not know dinner is his favourite but he certainly eats it like it is, Steve imagines the Winter Soldier hasn’t had much time for home cooked meals in the last seventy years.

“Is it ok?” Steve asks, Bucky has almost finished his plate, he seems to have noticed how quickly he has eaten and purposely slows himself.

“It’s delicious,” he assures the Captain, Steve wants to explain it’s his mother’s recipe, that she used to make it for them all the time before she died. That after dinner they would talk for hours, drink shots of whiskey Bucky had swiped from his fathers stash, returning it the next day half empty. He hears the other’s laugh in his head as he leaves to head home, slightly intoxicated and swaying on the steps. Sometimes he can get lost in those thoughts, in retracing old memories, before all the horrors he has seen. When he comes back to himself blue eyes are staring at him in mild concern.

“You were remembering something,” Bucky states, the blonde smiles wistfully and nods, he runs a hand across his face.

“It happens a lot when I’ve had a hard day, retreat to the familiar, to home.” The brunette is looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Can you tell me about it?” the question catches Steve off guard, he’s not too sure how to explain it, it’s one of those moments that warms him when the world feels cold. He tries his best, rambles a little, he gets lost in a connecting story, tells Bucky about the time they went dancing, long before Bucky left for the war. Bucky dancing with a brunette and a red head, that’s how their double dates usually ended, Bucky with two gals on his arms and Steve following a few steps behind. The other doesn’t speak or interrupt, he listens, absorbing the tales, committing them to memory. After that Steve has to stop, he can feel his throat tightening, the emotions overwhelming. “That story doesn’t make it sound like I was a very good friend,” Steve laughs,

“It wasn’t your fault the girls weren’t interested in me, you always tried to convince them I was a great guy, they were only ever looking skin deep. Until Peggy and then the serum, they were interested then. Did you want some more?” He gestures to the plate and the brunette nods, Steve collects the plate and moves to the cooker, ladling some more of the stew onto the plate and handing it back to the other. It was his mother’s recipe primarily but Sam had shown him how to add more flavour, post war flavour that was.

He found himself staring at his companion, clean from the shower, hair and skin still slightly damp even now, he looked calmer, more like the Buck he remembered from years past. He knew recovery wouldn’t happen overnight, that it would take time but he had already come a long way from the man he had encountered on the bridge and again on the helicarrier. He would speak to Sam in the morning, thought it would be good for Bucky to speak to him, given his experience with soldiers returning to civilian life. Bruce would have known techniques for calming, meditation, but the Doctor was gone without a trace. He assumed with the connections they would know someone who could help, they could run scans, blood tests, but he was getting ahead of himself. First he would need to earn the others trust, his plan was to get through the night, introduce Bucky to Sam first, when he was ready.

“They were stupid,” He blinks back from his thoughts, blue eyes studying him, he raises an eyebrow in confusion, thinking he had missed something along the way. “The girls, they were stupid for only wanting to dance with me.” That look again, he just couldn’t read it, it unnerved him somewhat because he had always been able to read his friend so well. He almost blushed at the compliment, found it strange coming from this Bucky. “Thank you, Steve, for dinner, the clothes, I don’t really know…. I haven’t…. I’m not…” he’s not sure what he wants to say to the blonde.

“Bucky, it’s fine, I want to help you, in whatever ways I can, if you want anything just ask, help yourself, just promise me you won’t run off.” Steve is aware he’s begging but he can’t lose him again, not when they’ve only just found each other. Bucky’s strong, he might never be the person he was again but the person he is, that’s more than enough for Steve. “I have some friends I think may be able to help you, talk to you, if you’re interested, you don’t have to decide tonight.” He adds at the slight look of concern that fills the blue eyes, “just think on it,” he wants to reach out and squeeze the flesh shoulder in support but he’s not sure if the Soldier would appreciate the gesture. He clenches his hands uselessly into fists at his sides.

“Do you really think they can help me?” blue eyes are staring at him, through him.

“They all have very individual skill sets, I think they could, but when you’re ready, I can bring them here first. Whatever you want, whatever you need,”

“Because you’re with me ‘til the end of the line, right,” Steve swallows his emotions at the smile that ends that sentence, this pure echo of his Bucky, like a reflection that is only slightly distorted. He doesn’t let the pain show, keeps it buried in the bottom of his heart where it swells with each beat, he wants to move forward, to wrap his arms around the other, hand at the base of his neck, he doesn’t want to let go.

“Yeah and even after that, I am going to set up the spare room, I don’t get many guests.” The blonde explains and breezes out of the room, Bucky can tell that he is flustered, he’s not sure why or what led to that reaction but he smirks to himself. He likes to see the blonde flustered, it sparks an interesting sensation beneath his skin.

He waits for a while before he heads into the living room, investigating his surroundings, the rain has stopped, no longer pounding against the glass. He looks at the books Steve has collected, running his fingertips across the spines as he reads the titles. He places the table back in the corner, tucks the chairs under, he feels a memory pull at him, gripping hold, because this is familiar. He turns at Steve’s voice calling to him, when he does the room has changed, he glances down at his hands, both flesh and the Steve his eyes settle on is the smaller Steve, his eyes are red.

_"You don’t have to do that Buck,”_ his voice quivers, he pulls at his sleeves nervously. He can feel himself move towards the smaller male, his hands on his shoulders, seeking his gaze.

_“I want to, how many times do I have to tell you, you don’t have to do any of this by yourself,”_

_“I just can’t believe she’s gone, it doesn’t seem real,”_ a tear slips from his eye, Bucky brushes it away with his thumb, the flesh beneath is soft, warm. It’s strange to fall into memories so completely you feel as though you are living them, sometimes he can’t pull himself from them and he bleeds from one to another seamlessly.

He has memories of a pretty blonde woman, she looks like Steve, the smaller Steve, her hair is curled and she smiles warmly at him and asks him to keep an eye on her boy, thanks him for being his friend. He can hear her voice, it echo’s in his mind, tells him about her baby boy, how he had been born too early, how she had been so scared she would lose him, but he had been a fighter, he had defied all the Doctors. She had blamed herself of course, for every illness that followed, for every misfortune, she always knew Steve was special and so did Bucky.

There is a hand on his shoulder, it squeezes gently and as he turns he’s back in the living room of the present day, staring at Captain America, looking up at him and for a moment that feels alien. He can’t hear the words but he knows he is asking if he is ok, he sways slightly and Steve grips him tighter to steady him. He feels exhausted, like his very existence has been drained from him. Steve helps him towards the bedroom as he shifts in and out of that moment, to a huge warehouse as it collapsed around them. Steve must realise he is getting lost, he sits Bucky on the edge of the bed and places his hands on his face, calling his name.

“Buck, it’s me can you hear me.” He nods, focuses on the voice and the words and those grey blue eyes that worriedly search for him.

“Get a little lost sometimes,” he whispers in answer to the unasked question that hung between them. He can barely stay awake, Steve lays him back and drapes the cover across him, Bucky tries to stay awake, he clings to consciousness like a lifeline, afraid of what waits for him in the darkness. Steve sits with him for a while, listening to his friends breathing as it evens out. When the other seems comfortably asleep he rises from the bed and leaves the room, he leaves the door ajar as he walks to his own room like a ghost in his own home.

He is woken in the middle of the night, at first by a whimper, gasps, muffled cries, he bites his lip and attempts to wait out the terror. He’s not sure how long he waits, staring into the darkness as his friend suffers in the room next door, he doesn’t think it’s wise to wake him but as the time ticks over the whimpering becomes screams. Terrifying, pain stricken screams and in them he hears Bucky falling again and he can’t let him fall alone, he manages to walk rather than sprint to the spare room, pushes the door open silently. There is a glow that falls into the room through the part in the curtains, it streaks across the bed where the brunette is entangled in the covers. A sheen of sweat across his skin, his hair damp, his hands are gripping the sheets and there is a grimace on his face.

His voice is hoarse as he screams out against the past that lives within his mind, Steve has no idea what he is seeing, he’s not sure he could face knowing. He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand on the flesh shoulder as he softly calls the others name. He’s not sure what reaction he expects, he gets the one most likely, blue eyes open, as wild as an animal trapped in a snare, that metal hand grips his throat, crushing with ease and he is flipped so he is pinned beneath the other on the bed, the flesh fist makes contact with his jaw and he grabs the fist before the second punch can land.

“Buck, it’s me,” he hisses out, throat constricted, “look at me, you know me,” his teeth grit against the pain and he stares into those wild frightened eyes, because that’s not all there is. The soldier tugs at the grip, attempting to free his fist, his hold loosens on the blondes throat just enough to allow Steve breath. He’s not sure why he does want he does, its instinct more than anything, the idea that if he is too close the punches that would surely follow would be useless. He releases the flesh fist and throws his arms around Bucky’s torso, pulling them together. It’s like boxers in the ring, he clings on tight as the Soldier fights against the hold. It’s like a light switching on and the brunette stops fighting, his breathing is normal and moments later when Steve chances a glance at blue eyes they are tear filled but calm. Realisation takes hold and he moves away, there are red marks on Steve’s neck, blood spilling from his lip, speckles of Steve’s blood on his flesh hand.

He moves back almost tumbling from the bed, Steve grabs the metal arm, holds tight, “I’m sorry,” the brunette whispers. Voice tight, eyes glistening, “I shouldn’t be here, I’m going to hurt you, I can’t sleep without nightmares, I can’t sit in a room without falling apart in some twisted memory.”

“I’m not stupid Buck, I knew it would be a risk waking you,” he doesn’t meet the brunette’s eyes, “I just… I couldn’t listen to you like that, knowing that there was nothing I could do. It’s happened, it’s in the past and I can’t get to it there, I can’t save you from that.” He sighs heavily, “these dreams, reactions, they’re normal for what has happened to you and it may not seem like it, but it will get better, easier.”

“Thank you, for waking me,” he forces the voice from the ache of his throat, Steve doesn’t ask him what he had seen and he is grateful for that. “Sorry for, the reaction,”

“That’s ok, I’ve had worse,” he smiles and realises he is still holding the other’s arm, he releases his grip sheepishly, stands from the bed. “You should try to get back to sleep,” Bucky nods and settles back against the pillows, he calls to Steve as he leaves the room. The blonde stops, glancing back over his shoulder at his companion.

“I would like to see your friends, I want help,” Steve nods in confirmation, he will contact Sam first thing in the morning. He steps outside the room and waits in the hallway for the other to fall back to sleep, until he can hear gentle steady breathing. Then he returns to his room, to his bed and his own dreams and in those his own pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky grow closer, a lot of past memories begin to surface and with the good comes the bad. Steve is ambushed on a mission and sexual tension ensues.

When he wakes it’s to sunlight filtering in through the curtains and the chirping of birds, he stretches and checks on Bucky. The brunette is asleep, almost peacefully, the sunlight falls across his form, the hoodie having loosened in the night and he can see where the metal prosthetic fuses to skin, the scar tissue that surrounds the join, angry and jagged. He leaves the other to sleep, heads to the bathroom and showers, brushes his teeth, he changes and calls Sam as he cooks breakfast. He doesn’t say much over the phone, still somewhat untrusting of the new technology and who might be listening. Sam will be there at midday, he seems somewhat suspicious on the phone and Steve thinks he knows what this is about even without him having to say.

“Was that your friend?” he looks up with a start, Bucky is leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, he is wonderfully sleep dishevelled, human and not the Soldier he can so easily become.

“Yeah, he’ll be here a bit later, just to talk, did you want breakfast,”

“Did I like breakfast?” his arms are folded across his chest, he hasn’t righted the hoodie,

“Yeah, there wasn’t much you didn’t like, food wise that is.” They eat in silence, it’s comfortable and easy and for a brief time Steve forgets the soldier and Hydra, the Asset, Captain America and the Avengers. He thinks he could let all of that go for Bucky, but in that moment he is reminded that he should contact Stark or Hill, Natasha, to let them know he needs personal time. He’s sure they will understand what that means, what else could be personal to Steve Rogers.

When Sam arrives he is clearly unsure, he eyes the dark haired male cautiously, whispers his concerns to Steve who assures him he knows what he is doing. When Sam looks at Bucky after that he sees the lost Soldier home from war, the memories echoing around him, he feels the loss of his own partner heavy against his heart. He understands everything in that moment, he realises if there is a chance there isn’t anyone you don’t try to save. Steve waits in the kitchen, he calls Stark because he could do with an ounce of humour in his world. Tony is surprisingly understanding, surprisingly not himself except for the few stupidly worded moments when he is. He insists he wants to run tests, sooner rather than later and Steve agrees because he knows it’s for the best.

He can hear Sam’s voice from the other room, soft and calming as he talks coping mechanisms, talks about the past and he hears Bucky talk back. He had suspected Bucky would be more open to someone distant than to him, there is a part of Bucky that even now is trying to protect Steve, just as he always has. As Sam leaves they both look like a weight has been lifted and Steve is relieved because it’s not just him who thinks his friend can be saved, so does Sam.

Sam makes an effort to pop in for a few hours a day, Steve notices the change in Bucky following their sessions. He still has nightmares, still screams into the darkness, he still gets lost to memories but he seems more present, more human. Steve allows him to get used to this contact before he asks Bucky if he would be willing to go with him to see Stark, he explains that it will just be a few tests, bloods, scans, a check of the arm. Steve is fairly certain there are no tracking devices, or if there were then no one was on the other end, surely Hydra would have been at his door by now if there were, Stark is not so easy to convince.

“Stark…” The name falls heavy from soft lips, blue eyes glazing just slightly, he can hear noises, laughter, general commotion, he can see bustling crowds and pretty girls. He can see Steve, slender, small, trying to fix his hair, his arm is around the blondes shoulders as he pulls him close and laughs. His heart swells and he remembers staring at his friend as he stood, absorbed, by the events on the stage. Stark, he thought as he observed the man on the stage before the red car.

“Not that Stark,” because Steve knows where Bucky has gone and reaches to him, pulling him back gently. “Close, very close and just as trying, this is his son,” he remembers a small boy, crying, but Steve’s hand squeezes his shoulder, stopping the memory before it can take hold. He is grateful, the sensation that filled him was the stoic icy sense of the Winter Soldier. “He has a place local, we could be there and back in a few hours,” Bucky nods, seems uncertain, Steve assures him he will be with him the whole time and that Stark is a friend.

 

XxXxXxXxX 

 

Stark sends a car, expensive and chauffeur driven, Bucky slips into the back like a ghost, hoodie on and hood up, sinking into the fabric. Steve sits beside him and the silence swells, he is slightly nervous himself, Bucky hasn’t left the apartment in weeks and he is unsure how he might react, what could trigger a memory. It doesn’t slip Steve’s notice that the driver has a gun, he shifts closer to his friend, defensively, supportively, selfishly.

The building extends high into the clouds, Bucky glances up at it briefly before they slip inside, quickly ushered into an elevator to the top floor. There are a few people working on this floor, they keep to themselves and don’t look at the two as they make their way across the floor. Strangely it’s Barton that comes to greet them and Steve smiles, he hadn’t expected anyone other than Stark.

“Looking good Cap,” The other envelops him in a welcoming hug and the blonde smiles back as he returns the gesture. “Stark has me running receptionist duty, can’t afford good staff apparently, either that or can’t get on with them.” He shrugs slightly before turning to look at Bucky. “Clint Barton,” he introduces, hand extended in greeting, Bucky eyes the appendage for a heartbeat longer than normal, he offers his flesh hand a few moments later, before Steve needed to interrupt.

“I presume I need no introduction,” he states, more because it’s difficult to introduce yourself when you are still uncertain of who you are.

“James Barnes,” Barton nods and smiles, it’s like he knew the thought that crossed the others mind and wanted to confirm the name. “Stark thought I may be able to offer some assistance, you know God messing round in my head and all.” Barton explains to Steve as he gestures for them to follow him. It’s not a lab they are led to as much as a pristine work shop, there is an array of mechanical equipment scattered across the expanse. Tony Stark is sat in the centre, he turns from the machine he was working on, spinning on his chair to face the others. He clapped his hands together as he stood, smile wide, friendly, yet tentative. His eyes surveyed everything in seconds, dark gaze landing on Bucky and holding steady. Bucky looked back and almost fell into a memory he thinks he would rather avoid. In the distance of his mind that crying child echoes, siren’s wail.

“Take a seat,” Stark insists and gestures at a bench next to a variety of machines, cables and the chair he himself had been sat at a moment before. Steve goes with his friend who moves in silence and obediently sits beside the avenger. Stark smirks when Bucky looks at him, blue eyes clashing against brown, “rule one, don’t flip out and kill anyone, no matter what you see. Rule two, I am the coolest Avenger,” Steve and Barton’s eyes roll in synch, there is a slight smile to Bucky’s lips but he aches with a pain he doesn’t understand and doesn’t want. “JARVIS, I want you to run scans of James Buchanan Barns, I want to know if there are any tracking devices, any bugs, I want schematics of the left arm and the mechanisms.” He winks at the strange look Bucky gives to him.

“I’m intrigued, it’s what I do.” Bucky thinks he likes this man.

Within moments, the results are scattered across the room, Stark pulls at the data, brining it closer for review and pushing it away once he has finished with it. Bucky watches in fascination and he feels the weight of Steve in the air beside him, constant and steady. He surveys the room, the people that surround him, he thinks he enjoys this, the company, the trust that so readily lends itself to him because Steve isn’t at all on edge here.

“It’s damaged,” Stark whispers, “a masterpiece, I hate to say it, especially as its enemy work, obviously not a patch on what I can do but not everyone is as gifted as me.”

“Gifted, is that what they’re calling it now?” Stark’s eyes narrow at Barton who merely stares at him awaiting an answer.

“Shut up Barton,” Bucky remembers this, the gentle back and forth between friends, comrades, the easy exchanges and light hearted humour, he can feel the memories but they trickle between his fingertips before he can fully relive them.

“What’s the problem Stark,” Steve cuts the exchange short, concern apparent in his voice, as Stark enlarges the schematic he has been focusing on, highlights a portion of the metal at the forearm. “There,” he taps at the section, “the metal is buckled, looks like something has been ripped out, a few of the components are damaged, it’s not drastic and is still functional but it needs minor repair.” He turns to Bucky, “can I take a look,” a nod and he slips out of the hoodie and rolls up the arm of his sleeve, Stark takes the limb in his hands, manoeuvring just so. “Right here,” Steve glances over the other’s shoulder.

“It was a tracking device,” Bucky insists, “ripped it out, packed quite a punch,” he looks at Steve, “you don’t think I’d risk leading Hydra to your door do you. I made my choice months ago, before I even came looking for you.” The blonde shouldn’t have been so surprised but he was, Bucky hadn’t mentioned anything, but wasn’t that so like his Bucky, always watching out for him.

“I can fix it, fifteen minutes if I take a break to run a marathon,” Stark winks and smirks and before they even agree he has rolled away to collect tools. He moves back and begins the delicate repair, Bucky watches him as he focuses on the task at hand, there are sparks that surround him as he works on the metal limb and he slips before he can reach for Steve.

He remembers that stage and the smirking charismatic man that moved before him, the red car and the sparks that emitted as the hovering ceased. He can’t quite place where it was, an exhibit, he remembers laughing with the showman, the applause. He remembers he had brought Steve there, a double date with a girl that wouldn’t even look at the blonde, why wouldn’t she look at him, it’s all Bucky wanted to do.

That crying again, distant and heart breaking, screaming and gunshots and the blood, the man from the stage staring at him, a smirk on his lips as the gun was trained on him.

 _“Fuck Hydra,”_ the bullet had torn through skull and flesh, the lights in those vibrant eyes had ceased so quickly and he had contemplated that even then. Felt as though he had seen this man somewhere before, in a much different time. He had disappeared like the ghost he was supposed to be as the blood ran thick and heavy, as fire and explosions roared in his wake.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps and Stark doesn’t stop, his attention doesn’t waiver, the sparks have stopped now and he’s reforming the metal over the components beneath.

“I know, me too,” it’s simple and short lived because Stark doesn’t do that sort of emotion, he can’t, that’s a dark subject for him and he closed the door on that moment long ago. Barton and Steve are silent, contemplative. “You’re not the first person to have done things you regret, against your will, I think everyone in this room knows that feeling better than you might think.” There is something heavy weighing against his shoulders, “the important thing, is we become better, stronger, if you let what they did consume you, they win.” Bucky hadn’t really thought of it like that before. 

Stark finishes the adjustments he was making, he checks the metal, the way it moves and shifts, the strength. He requests scans of the arm to the air, checking the components and their functionality underneath. “Perfect,” he announces after a few moments, “no need to thank me, I don’t do this for the glory.”

“Of course not, red and gold is so subtle and you kept your secret identity for what was it, three whole hours?”

“You know Barton I sense sarcasm in your tone a lot these days, after everything I have given you.”

“You are too generous sir, although you know I don’t work for you, right?” He looks at Stark for a prolonged moment, something unsaid passing between them and Stark turns to Steve.

“That reminds me Rogers, I have some plans I need you to look over for me, very urgent, fate of the planet and all that. You two boys behave we won’t be long,” he assures Steve and Bucky as he watches the concern in their eyes. Tony all but drags Steve from the room, the doors closing behind him, Barton turns his attention to Bucky who is staring at him inquisitively.

“I thought we should talk,” he moves closer, to the seat that Stark had left moments ago, “I wanted to explain that I know what it’s like, to lose yourself and be forced to do things against your will. I have killed people, a lot of people. I grieve for them and on occasion I see their faces when I close my eyes. I accept that those actions were not my own, that who I was then, wasn’t who I was before and it’s not who I am now.” He swallows around the lump it his throat, “took a lot of time and a lot of alcohol before I could allow myself to believe that. Almost drove me mad, I thought I could put myself back together, that if I blocked it all out I could forget. Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that, you have to see it, live it, make peace with it and let it go or it will take every piece of good in you and turn it into hate.”

He’s not sure why he speaks but his voice leaves his lips before he can stop it. The words don’t seem like his own, strange on his tongue. “Sometimes I think that’s all there is, the darkness, the hatred, the Asset. I feel like I’m drowning in it and then sometimes, when I’m with him,” he stares through the glass at Steve who is reviewing a file with Tony, glancing over at him every few moments, their eyes catch briefly, a smile shared. “The darkness doesn’t seem quite as bleak.”

“The Avengers aren’t a group of perfect people, we have all done things we are ashamed off, that we would like to hide from. If you need someone to talk to, we’re here, if we can’t help we more than likely know someone trust worthy who can and if you need someone to fight beside you until the end, you couldn’t ask for a better team.” They talk for a while longer, trading stories, experiences, before Steve and Stark walk back into the room. Bucky looks tired as Steve casts his gaze over him and he makes the call to go home, back to their little apartment in Manhattan, a sanctuary in this crazy modern landscape.

 

XxXxXxXx

 

By the time they arrive Bucky is almost falling asleep against him, he holds him close as he fumbles for his keys. When he opens the door he shifts the other against him and can feel his breath ghosting across his skin, it sends a shiver rolling down his spine. He closes and locks the door and takes the brunette straight to the spare bedroom, he removes his shoes and the hoodie before lying him down and covering him with the blankets. He hears his name whispered as he moves to leave, a muffled thank you against the pillow and silence as he slips into a peaceful sleep.

Steve falls asleep easily, the day having drained him as much as Bucky himself. In his dreams he remembers the war, Peggy, he remembers that train in the alps and allows himself to believe he caught Bucky that day. That he had pulled him tight to his side and slipped back into the train, he dreams of his lips against wind chilled skin, the snowflakes melting under his fingertips as they brushed them whilst entangling in dark hair.

He wakes to the familiar screams and goes to his friends side, he places his hand on his shoulder and sits on the edge. He doesn’t wake at the touch but the screams subside quickly, Steve brushes dark strands of hair away from the flushed skin. He can feel the heat as his hand passes, can see the sheen in the soft light that dances between them.  He finds it difficult to tear himself away from his side some nights, would like to slip beneath the covers next to him as he had when they had been younger. Despite his desires, he tears himself away, back to his room and slips into a dreamless sleep.

 

XxXxXxXxX

 

Sharon starts asking him about that coffee, he’s been so caught up with Bucky that he’d forgotten about that rain check and had she not been so persistent he may have mistakenly beaten his previous seventy year record. It’s Bucky who reads the most recent message as it pops up on his phone, he passes it to Steve, their fingers brushing and there’s a look in those bright blue eyes he just doesn’t understand as he takes the item from the brunette.

“You should go,” he bites out as he pours them both coffee, “you don’t have to baby sit me all the time, you still need to have a life. I think I could spend a few hours by myself and not end up killing fifty people” Steve takes the coffee gratefully. There’s a smile to those soft lips, his Bucky in that moment, the one he so painfully remembers and visits in his dreams every night.

“I know,” it’s been months, months of Sam and Clint, even Natasha who when she had smiled at Bucky he could place her somewhere else but not quite. “You know Natasha has been trying to get me to go on a date for years.”

“It’s not a date, its coffee, we’re having coffee right now, that doesn’t make this a date.” Bucky points out and Steve laughs and rolls his eyes.

“You’re a smartass and have definitely been spending too much time with Natasha. You cannot tell her about this do you understand, I will never, ever, live it down.”

“My lips are sealed, although I may break under questioning,” Bucky winks at him, actually winks at him and Steve almost breaks then because although it’s been months, it almost feels like this is how things have always been. “Go, have a good time, I will be here when you get back and I will hopefully not have broken anything, it definitely won’t be anything important.” The brunette pours himself another cup of coffee, he absentmindedly brushes his hair out of his eyes, slightly longer now.

“Fine, but it you need anything you call me, or Sam, promise,” Bucky promises and later that evening he’s sat on the couch flicking through TV channels as Steve makes him repeat that promise. As the door clicks shut and the blondes’ footsteps echo in the halls Bucky can’t help but admit to himself that it feels strange to insist the other leave. Feels strange to know he is going for coffee with a pretty blonde that Bucky had caught glimpses of in passing. He doesn’t know how he feels about that because his emotions still feel wrong in his chest and if he can’t match them against another from the past he doesn’t understand what they should mean.

He briefly remembers a pretty brunette woman in a red dress, staring up at Steve, full lips painted crimson. That feeling again and he shakes it away like cobwebs clinging to a corner. The feeling nags at him and he finds Steve’s tablet computer in his bedroom, he loads it up as he returns to the couch. He types Steve Rogers into the search engine and filters through pictures and pages of information, he places a name to the pretty brunette, Peggy Carter. She had met Steve during the war, he can see the way she adored him in his mind, that feeling is gripping his heart and he pushes it down.

Whilst Steve had been frozen in the ice she had married, had children, grandchildren, she lived a full life, now she was frail and living out the rest of her days in a nursing home. She was beautiful, he thought as his metal hand traced the outline of her face, Steve had loved her, that was clear in the fractured memories he had of them. He remembered the sting of the alcohol against his throat a desperate attempt to hide the sting internally. He pushed that memory, that feeling, away he almost thought it was jealousy, but he wasn’t sure, there was something else with it, disappointment.

The time had slipped away from him as he read article after article, greedily absorbing as much information as he could on Rogers and Captain America. Until his eyes were heavy and his bones ached, he glanced at the time and decided to take a shower, leaving the tablet on the table. He turned on the water and undressed staring at himself in the mirror, he ran the metal hand through his hair, longer now and starting to irritate him. He wondered what Steve was doing at that moment, he wondered if Sharon looked at him as Peggy had, of course she would, who wouldn’t. He tried to stop the thought before it took root because it felt bitter to his tongue and he wanted Steve to be happy.

The hot water eased the tension in his shoulders and he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation, closed his eyes and leant against the tiles. He listened to the water, the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment, it was peaceful soothing and if he focused on that enough he could keep everything else at bay. He doesn’t know how long he stayed beneath the water for, the steam rose like a heavy fog and he allowed himself to think of Steve, of his smile and the way his hands felt when they gripped his shoulder or his arm.

 

XxXxXxXx

 

Steve was grateful to get home, not that he had not enjoyed the coffee and the chat because he had but he had missed Bucky and found himself wondering what his friend was doing constantly. He slipped into the apartment, calling his name as he closed the door, there was no immediate response which caused an initial panic. Then he heard the water from the bathroom and the alarm faded, he wandered into the living room, noticing the tablet on the table and lifted it up, it lit up at his touch to reveal pictures of him and a long article, he smirked as he read the first few lines before returning it to the table top. He didn’t hear the water turn off and as he walked towards the bedroom, Bucky stepped out of the bathroom and into his path. Towel low on his waist and skin damp and gleaming from the shower, hair damp and roughly dried, Steve tried to focus on anything other than the water droplets that trickled across the other’s abs and under the towel.

“I didn’t hear you come in, how did it go?” Bucky asked and Steve wasn’t sure he could have this conversation in that moment. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“It was ok, just coffee, lots of work talk. I see you’ve been reading up on me in your spare time,” Bucky smirked, running his metal hand through his damp hair to push it away from his face. The movement highlights the ragged scars that surround the limb, Steve traces them with his eyes, the way they cut and tear harshly into the flesh, haphazard and careless

“Lots of interesting things about you on the net Rogers, a lot of stuff you don’t find in the museums, or in my head.” Steve wonders if he had found any recognition in what he had read, any truth, any memories. He doesn’t push the subject, “well I should probably put some clothes on, I’ve put some dinner by for you if you’re hungry.” Steve’s thinks he’s starving and then pushes that thought as far from his mind as he can because he doesn’t believe he is referring to the food.

“You cooked and nothing caught fire or died.” Bucky lightly punches his arm,

“I’ll have you know I am a very good cook and I may have called Sam for a little advice, I’ll be through in a minute, wait up for me?” Steve nods, it’s late but he’d stay up all night if that’s what Bucky wanted, he watched the brunette walk into his room, then turned and headed for the kitchen. He helped himself to the plated dinner, a pasta dish he knew to be one of Sam’s signatures, it was delicious, even better than Sam’s, of course he was fairly certain he would be killed if he ever spoke those words aloud.

He doesn’t notice Bucky’s presence until he takes a seat beside him, shoulder brushing against his own and the tablet being placed on the table in front of them. Still with his picture and the article glaring on the screen, Steve glances at the brunette, he’s dressed in a short sleeved white shirt and grey sweatpants, dark hair still damp against his skin.

“So, if I’m reading this right, you marched into enemy territory by yourself to rescue me, even though there was a high chance I was already dead.” Steve didn’t look at him, didn’t think he could, focusing on his plate was much safer. “Are you even real? No wonder they call you Captain America, how many men did you save?”

“Stark and Peggy helped,” the name of the pretty brunette spoken from Steve’s lips rips at his heart somewhat, there is a way it’s spoken, like a whispered broken ache. He tries not to let the slight resentment show in his voice when he speaks next because he holds no ill will against her. She had seen Steve as he always has, he has to stop at that thought and smile because things like that come to him as second nature now and he never thought he would get there.

“Ok so they flew you in, not even all the way, this is all on you.” Silence for a moment,

“I couldn’t leave you there, I knew you weren’t dead and… do you remember any of that?” Steve wonders, catching the too blue eyes. Bucky shrugs, turns his gaze back to the lit up screen before him.

“The odd pieces, all broken, jumbled, like a confusing puzzle. This helps,” he gestured to the tablet, “I can put it together a little better it’s not so hazy.” Silence again, “Ok second thing, aliens? That was a thing, and God’s like Thor, I presume Loki is the one that got into Clint’s head,” he seems fascinated by it and why wouldn’t he be, he knows these people but not their histories, it’s natural he would want to know more about them, about their pasts.

“You will probably meet Thor one day, I think you’ll like him, as for Loki, I think he’s confused more than anything, he’s not evil to his core.”

“Do you miss it, fighting with the Avengers, you’ve been so busy looking after me you haven’t been on any missions in months.” Steve smiles and reaches out for his friends shoulder, squeezing just so, reassuringly.

“I’m quite enjoying the break and I think Nat enjoys being in charge and she’s certainly more than capable of holding the fort for a little while longer.” They talk well into the early hours Bucky continues with his research, questioning Steve about the strangest things, they broach the subject of Peggy but its short lived and Bucky doesn’t push as it clearly causes the blonde pain to speak about her. Steve has no idea what time it is when they finally retire to their separate rooms, they both leave the doors open, it’s an unspoken agreement, they both sleep better that way.

It’s the first time in a long time that the nightmares grip Bucky, he remembers the war, remembers being captured by Hydra. Separated from the others and dragged into that room with the strange Doctor, strapped down onto the bed, he remembers injections, cuts, pain, and electrocution. He catches himself thinking of Steve despite the pain, he remembers his smile, touch, it eases the pain helps him cope. The Doctor is gleeful with his handling of the processes, he never says anything other than his name and rank, except for one occasion where Steve’s name may have slipped from his lips in the haze.

 _“You will make an excellent Weapon Sergeant Barnes,”_ he had frowned at the words and fought against the restraints. He wanted to rip out the Doctors throat, _“yes, you are the only successful candidate we have had, all others have perished, you have an exceptional tolerance for pain, this will serve you well.”_ Pain had been all he had known for days, pain and the brief moments of relief when he had passed out, drifting into memories of Steve.

_“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,”_

_"How can I, you’re taking all the stupid with you,”_ Steve kept him going, who would look out for him if he died in this hellhole, whatever they wanted to do, he would have to see it through to get back to his friend.

He remembers them cutting into flesh and burning it back closed, relives the smell of his skin melting. He remembers healing quicker than should have been possible only for them to do it again, he screams endlessly into the darkness.

Steve hears the screams and runs to Bucky’s side, he crouches over his friend as he shakes and shouts from the bed. He places one hand against his shoulder, the other on his arm and calls to him softly, there is no initial response and he hears the familiar whispered words of his name and rank whispered into the darkness, he knows in that moment what memory he is lost in. He calls out to the other again and blue eyes open, unfocused for several moments before they take Steve in, the blonde moves his hand against Bucky’s face, his cheek heated beneath his palm. There is a smile, the same smile from all those years ago and it’s like reliving that very moment, an echo of a time long since lost to the past.

It’s the feel of the metal hand against his neck that brings him back to the present, blue eyes are studying him. Bucky’s other hand is wrapped around Steve’s wrist, holding him in place. There are tears that build against dark lashes.

“That was their plan all along, even then, to use me against you, a weapon of their own. They were idiots, I could never compete with you,” the metal fingers trace the line of the blondes jaw and Steve finds himself leaning into the touch. “I could never kill you,” it’s said with such certainty, like it’s clear to him in that moment that despite everything they did, all the conditioning, Bucky had kept a piece of Steve because he had kept a piece of himself and they had always been a unit. You didn’t get one without the other, whether it be a date or war they came as a pair.

“You gave it a good go,” it’s a joke of course, said lightly and with humour but in the light that filters in from the curtains Bucky is aware of the bullet wounds that mar Steve’s bare abdomen. Barely there with the increased healing abilities but the brunette can see them and he knows he put them there, on that helicarrier. “I was your mission,” he so easily excuses the actions.

“You’ve always been my mission, there was a little while where I got confused about what that mission really was.” His hand absentmindedly ghosts across the scars his bullets bore, he can feel Steve’s breath catch and he pulls his hand away with a whispered apology. “Stay with me?” he asks and the blonde can’t refuse him, he slips into the bed beside the brunette, their arms barely touching as they fall back into a gentle slumber.

 

XxXxXxXx

 

They are closer now, a lot closer, maybe than they were before if that is possible. Steve groans when Stark calls him, insisting he needs his help on a mission, nothing dangerous he insists because he knows Bucky is listening to the call and will probably kill him if he put the Captain in harm’s way.

“He’ll be with Ironman Buck, the Ironman, I don’t know if you know this but that guy is amazing, what’s better than a superhero because that’s what he is.” Bucky rolls his eyes as the voice beams from Steve’s phone into the calm of the apartment.

“When do you need me,” he doesn’t want to leave, can Stark tell that from his voice.

“This afternoon and you’ll be back by this evening, with bells on, or you can have a million dollars and a suit of your own.”

Nat picks him up and drops him off at the pickup point, Bucky comes along, he’s spending the afternoon with Nat who has insisted they go out of the apartment as she cannot stare at the same four walls any longer. She even promises he can drive the car, her car, her pride and joy, that’s how desperate she is.

When Bucky see’s Sam is going he breathes a sigh of relief because he trusts Sam to watch over Steve, Sam is like him, dedicated. Stark makes a comment that he is the one Bucky should be happy to see and about how underrated he is. Steve insists he will see Bucky later, tells Nat to keep an eye on him, she salutes and they go their separate ways.

“He’s going to be fine, he’s taken care of himself for a while you know,” she turns the radio on and taps her fingertips against the steering wheel to the rhythm as she revs the engine. “How do you two go about showering, can you cope for those few minutes or do you have to shower together.” She smirks to herself as she catches the other’s expression.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are trying to insinuate,” he plays innocent so well, but she knows the devil in him even if he still can’t remember she knows.

“You two will be the death of me,” Natasha drives like a maniac and Bucky thinks it’s far more likely that she will be the death of him. He enjoys spending time with her, she is funny and full of life, she has left the darkness behind and now it’s like it doesn’t even linger to her at her lowest moments.

 

XxXxXxXxX

 

Bucky is pacing by the time the clock ticks nine, Nat dropped him off hours ago, stayed a while and then headed out. Work to attend to, she had sped off into the darkness with assurances Steve would follow. Evening was what Stark had said and he was beginning to realise how broad of a term that had been. He cooked, he tidied, read a book, tried to pass the time without letting the ache and concern flood his bones. In the end he bit nervously at his lip until he drew blood, he felt the tension rise in every muscle. When the door opened at eleven he almost collapsed with relief, Steve slipped into the apartment, looking slightly worse for wear, an arm against his ribs. Bucky ran to meet him, allowing the blonde to lean on him like a crutch

“I thought this was meant to be a safe mission,” Bucky all but hissed as he surveyed the other, Steve chuckled.

“I’m fine, just a little bruised,” he stopped as he took the brunette in, clean shaven, new clothes, shorter hair, not as short as it had been before. More modern, longer on the top, he looked younger, he looked like the Bucky he had known better than the back of his hand. His Bucky from before the war, before the horrors they had seen and lived, the Bucky all the girls had swooned for. He let his hand move to the back of the others neck, running his fingertips against the short dark strands he found there. He could feel an ache in his chest and pulled the other into an embrace, holding him tight.

“I take it you approve,” he whispered against the blonde’s neck, his own arms winding around his friend, careful of where his hands were as to not catch any bruises.

“This was your choice though, right?” Steve asked as he pulled away to gauge the others reaction. Bucky hit his arm, catching a bruise purposefully.

“Of course I did it for me, it was getting too long, too annoying.” Steve licks his lips and Bucky watches the way his tongue moves, the way his lips glisten. “Are you going to let me take a look at these wounds, you know I won’t be able to sleep until I’m sure you’re not going to die in your sleep.” They move to Steve’s bedroom as that’s the closest room and Bucky doesn’t want to have to move him again once he is settled. Steve is reluctant, insisting he is fine but as the brunette does not let up he obediently removes his jacket and his shirt. There are a few nasty cuts, a multitude of bruises, Bucky glares at him as he moves closer, placing his flesh hand against Steve’s ribs to feel for any breaks.

“I told you, just bruised,” Steve hisses as Bucky places a particularly heavy hand to his floating rib, the cuts have already been tended to. Cleaned and stitched and Bucky presumes he has Stark to thank for that, it would explain why they were so late.

“Now, but they have probably healed a lot since they were made. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Ambush,” Steve whispers as Bucky’s hand falls on a tender patch of skin. The brunette hears the sharp intake of breath as the blonde attempts to conceal the pain. Their eyes catch and hold, bright blue locking to steel blue.

“That one is broken,”

“It will heal, I’d give it an hour,” he presses the one above, the same intake of breath, an eyebrow raises, “that will heal too, jerk,”

“Punk,” he’s not too sure when Bucky got this close, his hands have not moved from his skin during this exchange, both flesh and metal against heated mottled skin. He thinks the brunette goes to move away at the silence but Steve’s hand wraps around his wrist keeping his hands against him. He moves the hand up, across his ribs again, slowly, Bucky watches as his hands are guided across the expanse of muscle.

“Maybe you should check them again,” he pushes and the bones have started to knit back together already, “must be that healing touch.” Bucky swallows around the lump that is forming in his throat, his skin feels flush, excited, electric, he is not familiar with the sensations that fill his body but he enjoys the way his nerves burn. He searches in his memories for a similar moment with similar sensations, he remembers countless nameless women that provided a more dulled version of the desire he feels untangle in him now. He should probably consider his next moves carefully but he allows his sense to be pushed aside at his desperation to feel, to give in to the emotions.

He presses his lips to Steve’s, a gentle brush, tentative, testing, his flesh hand moves up to run through the short blonde hair, like silk beneath his fingertips. The skin of his neck that follows is soft and heated, Steve catches his lips as he goes to move away, his tongue easily parting Bucky’s lips, the brunette groans slightly, falling into the kiss, his skin feels like it’s on fire. He pushes into the kiss, desperate and greedy, his tongue searching for Steve’s and tasting the other. He has no memories of them together like this and none come forth, he smirks against the blonde’s lips, the idea that this is new ground for both of them exciting him even more.

Steve pulls him onto his lap as he allows his lips to flutter across the dark haired males jaw, neck, collar bone. Tasting the heated flesh, “What’s the smirk for,” he whispers, his breath hot against Bucky’s neck, he groans at that, grips onto the other like a lifeline.

“Have we, ever, done this before?” Bucky asks, pulling back to meet those grey blue eyes,

“No, although I can’t remember a time I didn’t want to, why?”

“I like the idea that it’s not something I have forgotten and need to remember.” Suddenly his expression darkens and he looks heartbroken as he finally allows the thought that has been tormenting him out of his mind “something I need to live up to,” Steve stares at him, understanding dawning. He places his hand beneath the other’s chin, bringing the downcast eyes back up to meet his own.

“Bucky,” he whispers, “look at me,” because he is looking just past him, avoiding the steel grey that eagerly searches for him, Steve’s hand is cupping his face, warm and strong. He meets the eyes that seek his, meets an expression there that he cannot understand, he realises he has seen that look in Steve’s eyes on more than one occasion, on the bridge, when he had turned up in his home, at Starks, why did he look at him so often with that expression. When he looks back on those fractured memories from the past he can see it there, during the war and even before that. “You have nothing to live up to, you are those past memories, but I would much rather have the present than the past that has haunted me for so long. For years my memories have been an echo, a ghost of a home I lost, they were comfort but pain, because I couldn’t get them back, I’d lost everything. Here, now I have you and you have always been the only thing I had when I had nothing and I never needed anything else.” Bucky grits his teeth and a tear slips from his eyes which Steve kisses away, soft lips against his skin.

“You are far too good for me,” the brunette explains as he leans his forehead against the other males, flesh hand against his face. Steve’s hand seeks out the metal limb, entwining his fingers with that of the prosthetic.

“Maybe, definitely back before the war, but I have always wanted and needed you more than you could know.” A kiss against his temple, a smirk against the skin and Bucky hits him lightly before claiming his lips again. The desperation is bruising and the brunette offers a devilish smile into the clash of teeth and tongues. Steve’s hand is gripping his hair, pulling his friend away in order to press his lips against the skin of his neck, sucking and tasting the flesh exposed to him. Bucky is surprised at how forward the Captain is, he thought he would be shy, uncertain. He liked this new side to the blonde, he pushed down in the other’s lap searching for a friction he desperately needed. He groaned softly, the noise echoed by the blonde against his neck.

Steve’s hands slips beneath the white T-shirt he feels makes Bucky overdressed. His fingertips map the expanse of muscle, he can feel the other tense at the touch and glances at his face, there is slight trepidation there. The blonde knows why without even asking, he places some distance between them and keeps his gaze on the brunettes own as he removes the shirt slowly, discarding it at the end of the bed. Bucky doesn’t tear his gaze away, despite how he would like to, he’s not ashamed of his scars, of the metal limb, but he doesn’t know how Steve will react to them, it’s not the Bucky he may have remembered beneath the shirt.

His breath catches in his throat as Steve’s fingertips trail across the scars and the join between flesh and metal, holding to the shoulder there. He leans forward, ducks his head and presses his lips to the scarred and scolded flesh, showering kisses where the metal joins harshly to Bucky’s skin. He can’t keep the gasp at his lips and grinds against the other again, completely loosing himself in the relief and the sensations. His heart aches, not the familiar dull ache of disappointment, this is different, his heart aches with how alive it feels, with how much it craves. How grateful he is at that feeling, at everything he is feeling, because he was sure he was unable to feel anything after Hydra.

Every kiss is heated, lust filled and so much more, so much deeper, hands greedily grasp at skin. He spreads his legs which rest either side of Steve’s to push closer to the blonde. Desperately seeking friction, when he thinks he will lose his mind with desire he forces the larger male back onto the bed, kissing a path from his lips to his collarbone and across the muscles to the waistband of the trousers. Steve makes a sound deep in his throat, dark and animalistic and Bucky commits that sound and the sight of the Captain laid out before him to memory. His undoes the button on the slacks, pushing them down across well-defined thighs and muscled legs. His hands map the skin even there, every scar, every muscle just for him. He places a kiss to the top of a muscular thigh, at the edge of the boxers before his hands reach for the waistband. Steve’s hand stops him, steel blue staring at him, lust filled and desperate yet conflicted.

“You don’t have to do any of this, we can stop right here," Bucky laughs, he actually laughs at the blonde, a pure and beautiful sound and the humour of it floods his eyes. His hands never falter as he moves back up, bruising the Captain’s lips with a forceful kiss, holding onto the bottom lip as he pulled away, savouring the taste.

“I’m not a delicate flower that you are going to ruin Steve, I am Bucky Barnes, I am the Winter Soldier. I’ve been tortured, I’ve been an assassin, I have forgotten everything that made me who I am and you gave it all back to me without a moments doubt that the man I once was still held deep beneath the conditioning. So do not doubt me now, don’t ever think that I would do anything I didn’t want to and don’t you dare think I would not want you.” He realises the speech he has just made, “punk,” he adds for good measure and as Steve laughs Bucky reclaims his lips and swallows the humour, turning it easily into the desire it initially came from.

“Jerk,” Steve whispers as he pulls away, Bucky stares down at him, kiss drunk and dishevelled, he groans, his hips moving against Steve’s own in a slow long gesture that has them both moaning against heated flesh. He slips back to his previous position, removes the boxers and takes Steve into his mouth, slow and deep and the Captains hands fist into the sheets as he keeps his hips steady. The metal hand is on his hip, pinning him down with ease, Bucky torments him for what seems like hours, mouth slow and hot, lips full and teeth grazing just so and in all the right places. Bucky doesn’t let him move, he holds his hips fast to the bed, relishing in every moan, every desperate plea that falls from kiss devoured lips. He smirks and that pushes Steve over the edge because it’s so entirely Bucky, from then, from now. As the sensation pulses away and Bucky releases his hips he grabs him, pulling him to his lips, a slow lazy kiss between them.

“You appear to be overdressed Sergeant Barnes,” he growls against his lips as they part, Bucky smirks again, that tempting twist of lips. Steve easily flips them so the dark haired male is pinned beneath him, chest to chest, hearts pounding fiercely underneath the flesh. He traces every scar with his lips and hands, as if that gesture will rid Bucky of the pain and the memories they hold, as if the touch will heal them. His right hand searches out for the metal limb, fingers entwining, Bucky moans and bucks his hips up, desperate for the contact Steve denies him. Steve chuckles and removes the black jeans and boxers beneath slowly, his mouth following where his hands brush.  Steve’s mouth is sinful as he envelopes Bucky and every nerve, every muscle, ligament, every inch of the soldier burns at the sensations that fill and overwhelm him. He grips to Steve’s hair desperately, holding tight in a desperate attempt to prolong this moment. Bucky can’t remember a time where he felt so alive, so content.

He has no memories come to haunt him in those primal moments. He is free of the past and his doubts and as his orgasm overwhelms him he forgets everything but Steve and thinks if that were to happen permanently, it would be a very happy existence.

No nightmares haunt either of them that night, as they are pressed against each other beneath the covers. Bucky can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his back, he counts every beat until he falls asleep, strong arm draped across his chest and in that moment he thinks he might be home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping this was better than the last chapter, was slightly disappointed by that so have made some amendments and changes. Hope this shows, please let me know what you thought. Also the past moments may ever so slightly differ to canon, on occasions, I am trying to keep things as accurate as I can.


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